


There Are No Heroes

by SlaveToMyKeyboard



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Abandonment, Dub-con substance use, Emotional Hurt, Fluff, Humour, Multi, No Villains or Heroes, Physical Abuse, Teen Angst, dark pasts, everyone has powers, superhero au
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-03-18
Updated: 2016-03-21
Packaged: 2018-05-27 12:39:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,324
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6284872
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SlaveToMyKeyboard/pseuds/SlaveToMyKeyboard
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>(More tags to come)</p><p>Dave and Rose don't remember most of their childhood, and what should have been the rest of it was spent crying for a life they've never had.</p><p>Karkat has a fiery temper. Kankri puts up walls around himself. A prayer in their darkest hour gave them what they thought they wanted, but now they're not so sure.</p><p>There are no heroes to save them, so they must save themselves.</p><p>Or y'know, some other cliche, dramatic bullshit like that.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Footsteps and panted breaths echo off of the walls, your feet pounding on concrete as you run, not knowing where you’re going, but knowing that anywhere is better than going back. Your sister’s hand grips yours tightly, her shoes scuffing the floor as she struggles to keep up.

“C’mon,” You say, slowing your pace a little to bring her level with you, “we’re almost there.”

She nods and keeps running, all of her usual quips lost to fear and exhaustion. You never thought you’d miss her sarcasm. In truth, you haven’t the slightest idea how much further you’ve got to go; the facility is like a labyrinth, and right now you’re the mouse looking frantically for the cheese at the end of these winding tunnels.

Then you hit a dead end.

A glance over your shoulder shows you shadows rising on the walls, lights flashing as torches on guns search for their target. Your sister slumps against your side, and when you put out a hand to steady her, your fingers are coated with blood, soaking through the make-shift bandage tied around her waist as if she can afford to give it away so easily. Hushed voices reach you, their whispers going quiet as four men clad in armour round the corner.

Your swords are drawn before they can even raise their guns. Two are struck down with a single blow, and the third loses his head behind you with a flick of your wrist. The fourth has time to shoot, and his shaky aim launches a bullet that just grazes your shoulder. You don’t look when your sword splatters his blood up the wall. You were trained to fight, raised to be cold, _built to kill_. But it doesn’t mean you have to like it.

“Dave…” Your sister mumbles, reaching out for you from where you left her against the wall.

“It’s okay Rose,” You say, sheathing your swords to scoop her up, “we’re getting out of here together, I promise.”

You step over the bodies, backtracking until you can take a different route, and you already know that you should have gone this way in the first place by the way the floor slopes upwards. God, why couldn’t these bastards have given one of you fortune telling powers? But as it is, it doesn’t seem you will need them. No more guards come to block your path, and no sirens blare when you reach the door, not a single sound other than your own heartbeat and your twin’s faint breathing. Shit, you need to hurry. You set Rose down and wedge a sword between the door and the wall, putting your full weight on it until something gives and metal bends as the lock pulls itself free. Your sword is more like a boomerang now, so you hook it through the handle after carrying Rose through and closing the door. That should at least buy you some time if anyone tries to follow.

You’re outside for the first time in years, and your heart jumps at the crisp, fresh air forced into your lungs by a gust of wind. Then the girl in your arms shivers and you put aside all of your childish fantasies of what it would be like to go outside and play in the snow. You and Rose can do that when you’re away from here, when she’s better, because you’re both going to escape and she’s not… She’s not going to leave you. Not ever. You sink half way up to your calves, and each step is like pulling your feet out of solid ice, only to plunge them back in to freeze again, but you don’t stop walking, eyes trained on the gate near the forest. If you can make it there, you’ll have a ticket out of here.

Then you hear something click, and just manage to blink to the side before a wire whips past you, kicking up a flurry as it drops into the snow. Your breath catches in your throat, lungs convulsing until you manage a gasp of air. Fuck, you’ve probably only got a few more of those left in you. The whip snakes back to its owner, and when they send it out again, all you can do is shield Rose from the searing pain. You grit your teeth as the metal strikes, barely staying up on your trembling legs. It makes contact again, so cold that it burns, and spats of red spray out either side of you, more blood sticking your torn shirt to the lacerations underneath.

“Turn around Mr. Strider.” A cold voice says, “Turn around and surrender, or I will make it three.”

You look down at your sister; hair scruffy and dull – not at all how she would want it – and carefully applied make-up smudged over her pale skin. You can’t back down now, you can’t let _them_ take her away and lock her up again, or worse. She’s a beautiful living being and she deserves a chance to be happy.

She stirs as you turn around, and you can’t help sighing in relief because you hadn’t been able to feel her breathe for a couple of minutes. You’ve still got a chance. _She’s_ still got a chance.

“Excellent choice Mr. Strider,” Ms Snowman says, wiping her whips clean on the snow, “if you come quietly, we might let you see her again.”

“Go to Hell.” You growl.

She looks up and frowns, “Excuse me?”

“I said, _go to Hell_.” You scream your last word, then take a deep breath, summoning all that you have for one last shot at escaping.

Everything goes numb and your vision blurs, the very air bending around you and warping your surroundings. First white, then green, then black, then white again. You close your eyes and concentrate, thinking of the green, whatever it was, because somewhere that green is somewhere far away from here. You’ve never blinked to somewhere you couldn’t see before, and as your body tries to make the jump you can feel some of it trying to stay behind, but you’ve been practicing going further and if you can focus then you can make it, or at least she can.

Pain rips across your arm, and you can tell if it’s Snowman’s whips or the blink tearing you apart. Then the cold around your feet starts to fade, and you hear a girl that you don’t recognise.

“Hello?” She says, calm and curious.

You try to speak, but your throat has closed up.

“What are you doing?” She asks, and it’s like she’s _inside_ your fucking head, all too loud but distant at the same time. “Stop! You’re going to hurt yourself!” She sounds panicked, her words piercing your ears from every direction.

“No!” Your mouth makes the shape but you’re not sure if the words come out. You hold Rose closer, ignoring the other girl’s pleas. Just a little more, you can feel it, you’re almost there, almost…

It’s like snapping an elastic band. First the tension goes, in one swift ‘pop’ that leaves your head spinning. Then you’re falling, stomach left behind as you drop even though your feet are planted firmly on the ground, until you land and it sends shockwaves all up your body. You fall to your knees and Rose slips out of your grasp. A glimmer of light seeps through your cracked glasses, and when you collapse on the floor, there’s grass tickling your cheek.

You smile. You made it. You’re covered in blood and you feel sick and your head is trying to split in two. But you made it – together.

***

The golden thread shimmers as you hold it up to the light, closing one eye so that you can pass it through the needle and continue your project. This garment takes the form of a black one-piece that is designed to work as a part of one’s body, reacting to biological changes and the like. It’s not done just yet however, currently draped in a lifeless waterfall across your lap, awaiting the veins of gold that will bring it to life. You’re hopeful that it will be particularly effective for those hoping to sink into the background, be invisible as it were, until they are ready to stand out from the crowd. You know someone who could most definitely make use of that, although you’re not sure if you will ever convince him to wear something so tightly fitted. Your eyes flicker to a slight depression on your bed and you sigh.

“I know you’re there.” You say to the apparently empty room.

Another exhale answers yours, and then a face materialises above the dip in the duvet, his brows knit into a little frown below dark curls of hair.

“We really need to stop meeting like this,” You joke, throwing him a blanket, “people will begin to talk.”

He scoffs and covers himself, the rest of his body appearing as he stands up, “Oh _please_ , not everybody is as obsessed with gossiping about others as you seem to be – there is this wonderful concept called _privacy_ Porrim, one that I happen to take quite seriously.”

“Yes, I am quite aware.” You put down the material you were working on and head over to your wardrobe, “What are we feeling today Kanny, mini-skirt or flapper dress?”

You can almost hear him grinding his teeth as he replies, “Jeans, shirt, sweater, if you please.”

“If you say so.” You smirk and pass him his usual clothes.

He growls a “Thankyou” and then stalks off to the bathroom to get dressed.

You don’t know what he’s so worked up about; he isn’t exactly naked under there, not after you made him an armful of invisibility-compliant, Kankri-approved underwear. You would have made him a whole suit like the one you’re creating now, but he refuses to wear anything other than sweaters. Admittedly you made most of those too, but you can’t get the cloaking material to work for something like that, so it’s a skin-tight cat-suit or just a pair of panties. You have no idea why he chooses the latter, but he’s said that he only uses his ability to sneak out at night and visit you, so you guess he just doesn’t need a whole suit. That’s also why you keep several of his generic outfits at hand, so he can talk to you without being the disembodied voice of a half-naked young man.

Honestly, you question a lot of Kankri Vantas’ life decisions, but as long as he’s somewhere along the lines of happy – he’s always got something to gripe about that boy – then you don’t feel the need to interfere. Yet.

“I must say Porrim, your craftsmanship is improving every time I see you,” He says when he emerges, “this sweater is wonderfully made and has such an intricate pattern around the hem, I did not know that thread came in such small diameters.”

You chuckle to yourself because thread isn’t measured in diameters, but it’s quiet enough that Kankri doesn’t hear.

Then he puts his hands on his hips with a frown and you think he did hear, but instead he says, “If you can produce something like this, then what is preventing you from creating a sweater for me using the same thread as you are embroidering onto that suit?”

You roll your eyes, “As I keep telling you, it’s not that simple Kankri, the thread has to be in contact with your body for it to work, a loose fitting garment such as yours simply doesn’t provide enough skin-to-fabric interaction for the thread’s properties to take full effect.”

“Hmm,” He plops down on your bed and crosses his legs, arms folded and face the picture of concentration, “What if,” he says eventually, “you could perhaps connect the sweater to an undershirt, which would then act as a conduit for the thread?”

“It’s the same problem, the thread won’t be able to take effect if it’s too far away, that’s why I can’t just have one row going all the way along the seams and call it a day.” You sit down next to him, “Why don’t you just wear the suit _under_ your sweater? You can take it off if you need to be invisible, then put it back on afterwards.”

He seems to contemplate your suggestion, then shakes his head, “No, it doesn’t matter anyway, I barely have a use for my invisibility regardless of what I must do to properly execute it; it’s far easier to just shield myself instead of trying to slip away unseen.” Then he sighs, “Not that I have much need for that either. Honestly Porrim, why would I have such useless abilities bestowed upon me? I am as useless in combat as a slug would be, and if I wore one of those suits that’s exactly what I would look like. I’m better off handling things like paperwork and press releases.”

You pat his shoulder, “And you’re very good at those things dear, but don’t you think it would be beneficial to get at least some experience in the field?”

“Don’t call me dear, it’s demeaning and implies that we are in a relationship or that you have claim to some sort of motherly role in my life. I’m fine as I am.”

“Okay.” You say, deciding not to press the issue, “Now why don’t you tell me what you really came here for, because somehow I don’t think it was to argue about fashion.”

He sighs and flops back on the bed, “It’s Karkat.”


	2. Chapter 2

“What’s the little rascal gotten into now?” Porrim asks, with her ‘ _I won’t be able to do anything about it and you won’t take the advice I give you but tell me anyway_ ’ tone.

“I don’t know,” Kankri replies, “and that’s the problem; I’ve tried talking to him, I’ve tried giving him space, I’ve even tried asking him which option he prefers, but he just shuts down on me whenever I try to ask him how he’s feeling or tell him that I am there to listen. He thinks I’m trying to patronise him, treat him like a child, but the truth is that if he stopped acting like a child I wouldn’t have reason to treat him as such.”

Porrim is silent for a moment, probably tapping her finger on her chin and making that pondering pouty face, then she says, “Well, perhaps if you treated him like an adult he would act like one too.”

“I do–!” Kankri interrupts, and you have to stifle a snort of laughter because now _he_ sounds like the petulant child.

“I know, I know you try to treat him like an adult, but no matter what you say, you’ll always be his big brother trying to tell him what to do.”

“And I’ve tried backing off but that accomplishes nothing except to put me further outside of his personal circle, at least if I’m there I can have some insight on his behaviour and attempt to take measures to ensure he does not do anything that would be detrimental to his wellbeing, even if he does hate me for it.”

“Oh, Kanny no, he’d never hate you,” There’s the sound of shuffling fabric and the squeak of a mattress, probably Porrim laying a comforting arm around Kankri’s shoulder, “he’s a teenager, of course he’s going to reject anyone trying to interfere with his life, but you’re his family and he probably knows that you’re doing it because you love him and is just too stubborn to admit it.”

Kankri scoffs, but it’s the sound that means ‘ _I’m pretending I don’t agree but I’m not going to_ argue’ rather than ‘ _that’s a stupid idea but I don’t have a reply right now_ ’. It’s taken you five years to learn these subtleties of Kankri’s vocal repertoire, but boy was it worth the time, because now you know exactly how to avoid a lecture. Popping through the wall to frighten him probably isn’t on that list, and will definitely earn you a talking to, but as their conversation falls into silence just a foot away from your ear, it’s too good of an opportunity to pass up.

You sit back, hands braced on the surface the side of your head was just pressed to, then you hold your breath and phase your top half through the wall with a “Rawvr!”

Kankri shrieks and practically jumps into Porrim’s lap. She also lets out a surprised ‘peep’, but regains her composure impressively quickly.

“I wondered when you’d be popping in.” She says, smirking at her own pun – which was pretty funny.

You chuckle at the way Kankri is still sprawled across her bed, his cheeks burning red with embarrassment as he realises what happened.

“Cronus Ampora! That was not funny and never has been!” His voice his shaking but he’s finally wiped the look of terror off of his face, “You have been responsible for shaving more years off of my life with your ridiculous antics than any other creature on this planet, and I will rest the blame solely with you if I die of a heart attack someday.”

You hold your hands up as your laughter dies down, elbows resting on the bed whilst your back end kneels in Meenah’s room, “Sorry Kan, I couldn’t resist.”

Kankri growls, sitting up properly to straighten his clothes.

“So vwhat’s the deal vwith baby Vwantas?” You ask, “Need me to send the ice queen owver to sort him out?”

He rolls his eyes, “No I don’t think your brother’s assistance will be necessary, also it is not polite to eavesdrop.”

You shrug, “Ain’t my fault the vwalls are thin.”

Kankri raises an eyebrow and leans backwards to look at where your waist emerges from the wall, then frowns. Part of you likes to think it’s because he couldn’t get a view of your ass, but the more rational part is saying it’s because the wall takes up most of your torso, and therefore is clearly not thin.

You decide to pull the rest of your body through and flop onto the bed, “Look, just don’t vworry about him, he’s probably just bein’ a moody teen like Por said; Eri’s the exact same most a the time.”

“Yes but you and your brother have a somewhat different relationship than ours, I have known Karkat since the day he was born, and after what we went through I thought he would always trust me enough to be open about his feelings, but here he is treating me like an interfering parent.” He rests his chin on his hands.

“He’ll come around doll, you just gotta let him hawve his moment a rebellion an’ then it’ll all blowv ovwer.”

“I suppose so.”

You wait just in case he’s going to carry on, but he leaves it at that. Wow he must be feeling down if he’s giving you short answers like that.

“Hey,” Porrim says, narrowing her eyes, “how come he gets to use nicknames like that when I can’t?”

“Uh?” Kankri abruptly straightens his back, “I – I don’t know what you’re talking about, if I had noticed I would have said something but as it is I was too busy thinking about my responsibilities as the older brother and legal guardian of a volatile teenager, I think that is far more important than what language my friends use to address me as long as it is not particularly vulgar or offensive.”

There he goes again, off on some bullshit rant to cover up that fact that Porrim totally caught him out and he was too embarrassed to admit it. You can’t believe he stuttered though, God that’s adorable. You catch Porrim’s eye and she gives you a quick smile, then returns to looking at Kankri intently as if she’s actually listening to him. Maybe she is? You could stare at that boy forever, but even you can’t feign interest as well as this. Ah well, at least from your position you can watch Kankri without worrying about getting told not to “stop looking at me as if I’m an object to be put on show”, seeing as he’s too busy talking to Porrim.

God, he’s got such a pretty face, you wonder why he’d ever want to make it invisible.

***

You know the saying that when you’re dying, your life flashes before your eyes? Well, for you that’s only half true. Literally; you can’t remember anything before the age of eight and now as a seventeen-year-old bleeding out in the middle of God knows where – _seriously big guy, if you’ve got any hints that’d be great_ – your brain is still only telling you half of the story. You see Rose sitting next to you in the car, holding your hand as she tries not to cry. All you knew was each other’s names and that no matter what, you had to stay together, wherever these people were taking you. A woman hugs you after you get out of the car. She smells like alcohol and perfume, with blond hair just like yours and Rose’s, but you can’t picture her face. A hand wraps firmly around your shoulder, and you watch the woman drive off.

“There, there children,” A muffled voice says, “you’re home now.”

You remember sitting with Rose whilst she cries, telling her stories about superheroes, “We’ll be like that one day.” You say, wincing as your arm throbs around the needle sticking into it.

She nods and wipes her eyes, “Do you think I could design our costumes?”

You laugh, “Of course you can.”

She smiles for the first time, and you think that just maybe you really will be okay.

You’re in front of some weird robot thing, it’s bladed arms slashing around wildly as it wheels itself towards you. You grip the hilts your own swords, the ones you’ve been training with for the past three years. Somebody shouts something and you lunge forwards, plunging both weapons deep into the robot’s casing. It sparks, then spasms, slicing a deep cut across your shoulder, before going limp with a puff of smoke.

“Well done Strider.” Says the same voice as always.

You nod and retrieve your swords, giving Rose a thumbs up as she walks past you to take her turn.

Her glowing eyes widen when she sees your arm, “Dave.”

Ms Snowman shoves her forwards, “He’ll be seen to, don’t fret.” She snaps.

Rose freezes, so you urge her to walk, ‘I’ll be fine.’ You mouth to her.

‘Promise?’ She mouths back, taking a step.

You nod, ‘Promise.’

She sets her mouth into a line and turns way.

It always hurts, when they inject a new serum or test you against another combat contraption, but the pain doesn’t last long. You take a sword right through the stomach, and the next day you’re eating breakfast. You’re strapped to a table with your veins on fire, then four hours later you’re watching the sky blaze red at sunset. Bullets are the worst though; they have to come out before you can heal up, and now you’re ‘super’ they don’t bother with medical attention for something as stupid as a gunshot. You try to remove a particularly stubborn round yourself one night, and end up screaming in frustration and pain. Rose gives you such a telling off as she carefully extracts the warped metal with a pair of tweezers, but when she’s sewing up the hole in your leg she lets you cry into her shoulder, telling you all those things you used to tell her.

Your sister changes more than just her eyes; she becomes stronger, less of a little girl and more of a strong, independent woman, like the heroines you read about in comic books rather than the damsel in destress. It scares you sometimes, seeing her grow up, with her light up eyes and curvy figure, whilst you still feel like a kid. Then you remember standing in front of the mirror, poking at your arms as you flex the muscles there, and realising that you’ve changed too. Sure, you’re not a bodybuilder, but at least you don’t look like a weedy pre-teen anymore. You’re tall, and powerful, and it makes you proud because it means you can protect people, protect _her_ , _be a hero_.

But you’re not a hero. You never will be. All that crap they sold you at the beginning was just that; a huge pile of bullshit lies to make the children behave as they were slowly turned into weapons. Then just after you turn 16, Rose starts talking about seeing monsters in her dreams, and how they want her to do things for them, release them into her world, help them conquer humanity. She tells Snowman and the woman looks fucking _pleased_ , glad that one of her ‘experiments’ is losing her mind. But Rose wasn’t losing her mind; the monsters are real and if you push her far enough into a corner they’ll come out to defend her, all tentacles and eyes and sharp teeth, going after whatever threatens their host. That’s how you escaped, you grabbed your sister and ran through the chaos whilst her demonic servants tore everyone apart.

It had seemed like a good idea at the time, but in hindsight it probably would have been better to just sneak out at night or something.

The next thing you see is a bright light when you open your eyes, so you quickly snap them closed again to stop them from watering. Is this a memory? You try to move your arms but they’re strapped down – your legs too.

“He’s awake!”

It’s the girl from before, the one who was talking in your head.

This isn’t a memory, and somehow you’re not dead. You hadn’t exactly planned for this.

**Author's Note:**

> So I've had this idea for a while, but it's finally got a plot to it so I thought why not give it a go?
> 
> Let me know what you think, Kudos and comments are always appreciated, and I hope you enjoyed my dear reader! ~
> 
> I have a Tumblr! You can ask questions about this or any of my other fics and AUs, or just pop along to say hi! http://slavetomykeyboard.tumblr.com


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